


Soccer Ball + Ghost Town

by AppalachianApologies



Series: Schrödinger's Sandbox [3]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fainting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Jack Dalton is a Dad, Mac's going through some stuff, Oh also, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Sandbox fic, Whump, also referencing to james macgyver being a shitty person, as per usual, but very very tame compared to my usual whump, i'm slowly developing a plot shit is getting real, references to death, specifically mac's, there's mentions of bozer in this one wahoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29550177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: Jack knew that he and Mac were on a time table, just waiting for an assignment to go wrong. Despite knowing that it was coming, it doesn't make anything any easier, especially on the twenty year old bomb nerd.
Series: Schrödinger's Sandbox [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157210
Comments: 22
Kudos: 38





	Soccer Ball + Ghost Town

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Sorry it's been a week lol. I've been working a lot on my novel, and my muse got sucked up into that world for quite a few days. But I'm here now- so yay! This fic had a few ideas brewing in my brain for about a month, so it was nice to get those ideas out.
> 
> Trigger Warning for allusions to child death. There is nothing explicit, nor is there any descriptions of victims, but it's still there, so please, please take care of yourselves. As always, your health is infinitely more important than this piece of fanfiction.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Attention, company!”

Mac flinches, dropping five different pieces of binoculars in his hands, wincing as a couple of them miss the bunk and clatter to the ground. From the corners of his eyes, Mac can see all of the others in the bunk straightening their backs.

“Blevins, Michell!”

Instantly, the two men pale, and even Mac can tell that they’re guilty of whatever Martinez has yet to accuse them of. Although he has to force himself to do so, Mac looks straight ahead, doing his best to not watch Blevins’ reaction.

From the side, Jack takes a single step inside the bunks, before instantly turning on his heel and backing away. After watching the older man’s eyes go wide from fear, Mac covers a snicker with a cough.

By the time Blevins and Michell are done getting a stern talking to, both of them look like they’re about to either throw up or cry. Really, Mac can’t blame them. He knows, first hand, what it’s like to get yelled at by Martinez.

Wandering around the compound for a few minutes, Mac finally finds his overwatch, smile curling around his face. “I’ve never seen you run out of a room that fast,” Mac grins.

“Who, me?” Jack feigns ignorance. “Nah, I was cool as a cucumber.”

Making a face, Mac points out, “That doesn’t even make sense,” Before shaking his head. “You looked guilty. You’re guilty of something, aren’t you?”

“I plead the fourth?”

“You want the fifth amendment, Jack.” Mac rolls his eyes, “The fourth amendment is protection against an illegal search.”

“Well, I want that too.”

Bobbing his head from side to side, Mac adds, “Actually, there’s a bit of a gray part in the military. You and your belongings could be searched by a commanding officer.” At Jack’s slightly blanched face, Mac shakes his head. “You are guilty of something, aren’t you? And you thought that Martinez found out, right?”

“Okay, Sherlock, calm down there. I ain’t guilty of nothing.”

“You are!”

“How can you tell?”

Grinning far too wide for Jack’s liking, Mac easily replies, “Your accent gets thicker when you lie.”

“Does not,”

“Does too,”

“Does-” Jack cuts himself off, sending his bomb nerd a faux angry look. “You know what? I don’t have to hear this from you. It’s like arguing with a middle schooler.”

Mac makes a face. “Wouldn’t that also make you a middle schooler?”

Before Jack can reply, Martinez slaps a hand on his shoulder. “Dalton, MacGyver. There a reason you’re both hanging around in the middle of the street?”

“No sir,” Jack replies, back and neck going taut. 

With a grunt and a squint, Martinez seems to accept that as an answer. “Head back to the bunks. Got a special assignment tomorrow.”

“What is it?” Mac asks before he can stop himself. At least he tacks on a “sir,” for good measure.

Suspicious activity, ‘bout thirty clicks away. Supposedly in a neighborhood.”

“That’s a bit far away, sir,” Jack points out, already formulating a plan.

“That’s why it’s a special assignment, Sergeant,” Martinez replies without missing a beat.

The two of them make hard eye contact, and Mac takes that as a good time to slip away. He’s been caught in enough pissing competitions in the army, and he certainly doesn’t need to add another one. 

When Mac gets back to the bunk, Blevins and Michell are suspiciously the only ones scrubbing down the area, and Mac gives them a sympathetic wince. As far as punishments go, cleaning the bunks isn’t one of the better ones. After all, Mac would know.

Scooping up the pieces from the broken binoculars, Mac shoves them under his own bunk, knowing that he’ll be able to use the parts for something else. 

By the time Jack gets back to the bunks, the moon has already made itself known, and most of the other soldiers have already been tossing and turning for an hour. With a piece of plastic woven between his fingers, Mac finally closes his eyes to nod off.

Surprisingly, it works.

*

“How could you  _ not  _ know it was Amy?” Mac questions, realizing, not for the first time, how different his and Jack’s childhoods were.

Glancing off of the sand for a second, Jack easily replies, “I told you, it was dark, man! It’s not like we had street lamps or anythin’! I thought I was kissing Krisite!”

Mac groans from second hand embarrassment. “This is literally the worst story you’ve ever told me.”

“Hey,” Tossing up one hand, Jack continues, “You wanted to know the full story of my first kiss, and here it is!” After he puts his hands back on the wheel, Jack adds, “Besides, that’s not even the worst part.”

“Do I  _ want  _ to know the worst part?”

Ignoring the younger man, Jack jumps right in. “See, Amy knew that she kissed me, but I didn’t. So when it came time for the dance-”

“Oh, no,”

“Oh, yes,” Jack nods. “I went and asked Kristie to it.”

Dropping his forehead into his palms, Mac murmurs, “Oh God.”

“As soon as Amy got wind of this, she was fuckin’ pissed, man. You haven’t seen a thirteen year old girl that pissed. And let me tell you, it would be decades until I saw another one like that.”

Face pinched in confusion, Mac questions, “When did you see another girl in junior high looking pissed off?”

“Long story,” Jack waves him off, obviously not wanting to get into anything. Jack’s trust of Mac may have increased tenfold, but there’s something about the Davis’ that Jack just always wants to keep to himself. “So anyway, Amy started tellin’ everyone I was cheatin’ on her, and I had no clue. And then the worst part,”

“That’s not the worst part?”

“The worst part is that Kristie said no to me! She wouldn’t even go to the dance with me!”

Snorting, Mac adds, “Gee, I wonder why.”

“Aye,” Jack side eyes Mac, “You respect your elders.”

“And you’re one hell of an elder,” Mac agrees with a smile.

“Hey!” Jack exclaims, but there’s no heat.

After another minute, Jack sobers up, the Delta inside of him scanning the landscape for hostiles. The fact that he doesn’t see anything just puts him on edge further.

Mac says what they’re both thinking, “It’s quiet. Too quiet.”

Pulling himself from the vehicle, Jack unstraps his rifle. “Stay back for a second kid, got it?”

Although the younger man would ordinarily make a face at the nickname, he understands the severity of the situation. Slowly stalking behind his overwatch, Mac keeps an eye out for any hidden IEDs.

The wind blows laundry hung up on string, and tosses old wicker baskets against the sides of buildings. As the two of them turn a corner, Mac sucks in a breath. Even if the destroyed alley wasn’t obvious enough, the dark skid marks from an explosion would surely answer any questions. 

Dropping his shoulders, Mac murmurs, “We were too late.”

“Shh,” Jack hums, nerves still on edge and alert, even if the same can’t be said for his tech. He’s spent enough time in war zones to trust his gut. Looking from side to side, Jack checks the rooftops and broken windows, waiting for the familiar glint of a scope to precede a death sentence. 

Looking in the opposite direction, Mac frowns at the ground. Pulling out his knife, Mac crouches down to identify an object. Fabric, but it’s dense, tightly woven. Too many fibers to be any piece of clothing. 

A second later, Mac shudders with the realization. “No,”

Without looking down, Jack worriedly questions, “You alright, kid?”

Mac stands, fabric clutched between his fingers. “It’s a soccer ball, Jack. It’s-”

“Hey, hey,” Jack interrupts with a quiet voice. “We don’t know anything right now, yeah? Coulda just been there.” They both know the actual chances of that. “Behind me,” Jack instructs, right before they turn the next corner.

Jack allows himself a single moment to feel his humanity, before reminding himself that he has to be alert to keep his bomb nerd safe. And as much as Jack hates to think about it, this isn’t the first time he’s seen these things.

Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Mac, who’s just turned the corner. 

Silently cursing himself, Jack wishes that he thought to stop the kid from seeing this.

Barely louder than a whisper, Mac shakes, “No, no no no,”

Whilst still keeping an eye out for the rooftops and possible nests, Jack attempts, “Mac?”

“We were too late.”

“There’s nothin’ we could’ve done, you hear me?” When all he hears is shallow breathing, Jack risks a glance. “Kid?”

Eyes glittering, Mac just shakes his head. 

Jack hates to be the one to do this, but they have a job to do out here. “We gotta check for any IEDs. You up for it?”

“Yeah,” Clearing his throat, Mac nods, “Yes. I’m- yeah.”

“Alright,” Jack breathes, even though it’s obvious that he doesn’t agree. “You tell me where your spidey senses are tinglin’, yeah?”

After a nod, Mac shakily speaks up, “Based on the- the blast pattern here, there’s a good chance that if there are any other IEDs they’ll be on the edges of the streets. Keep an eye out for anywhere where a building wall meets the street.”

“Copy,” Jack replies, already tilting his head down away from the roof line. 

As much as Jack hates the fact that it’s the first thing that comes to mind, he can’t help but think that this feels like a ghost town. The only thing he can hear is the soft crunching under Mac’s feet as he carefully steps around debris, and occasionally the wind whipping around the buildings around them. 

Jack’s sure that a dropping pin would sound like a sonic boom at this point. Hell, he’s pretty sure that he could hear a scab fall off. In the quiet reprises from the wind, Jack can hear the kid’s breath occasionally catch. Each time it happens, Jack swears that his heart clenches.

Dark brown mud is scattered around anything sturdy, a vile combination of sand and blood. No matter how long Jack’s been doing this, it’s no easier to find victims than it was in the beginning, back when he was still a twenty-something, dressed in his very first TAC gear.

Hardly the expert, Jack can’t tell if it’s good or bad that the two of them haven’t found any other IEDs. He knows that they’re lucky when it comes to not having to disarm a bomb, but it puts a sour taste in his mouth knowing that only a single bomb created this carnage. If only one person took a different step, all of these people could still be alive.

Physically shaking his head to get rid of his thoughts, Jack takes a deep breath to focus. He doesn’t want to go down that road in his mind, because he knows exactly where it ends. 

“Hey, kid,” Jack starts, turning around. “I don’t have anything over here. What about you?” When there’s no answer, Jack’s instantly alert, wondering if they somehow missed a hostile. But even then, he would’ve heard that.

Taking a step inside of a half standing doorway, Jack finally straps his rifle back behind him and sighs. “Mac, kid, you okay?” It’s a stupid question, and Jack knows it.

Despite the fact that the kid is facing away from Jack, his jumping shoulders give the fact that he’s crying away. The worst part is, Jack doesn’t know how to help it. It’s not anything that can be fixed with some coffee and a movie marathon.

No, this shit will stay with Mac forever. He’s just a kid, barely older than- no. Jack doesn’t want to think about that. He refuses to think about that.

Taking a few cautious steps forward, Jack tries again, “Hey, Mac,” before following the younger man’s eyes down to the ground. Swallowing, Jack puts a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t want to see that, kid.”

Mac’s breath catches in his chest, choking down a sob that’s doing its best to escape.

“Mac,”

“They’re so young,” Mac quietly responds, losing the battle with his tears. 

“Hey,” using the hand on his shoulder, Jack slowly pulls Mac away. “Let’s not look anymore, yeah?”

With a slow nod, Mac turns around, shrugging the hand off, before wrapping his arms around his middle. The action somehow makes Jack feel even worse.

It’s the cruel, cruel reminder that Jack’s in a warzone with a kid who doesn’t know how to cope with any of it. And alongside it, a horrific realization that the kid’s first instinct was to step away from a comforting hand and hug himself instead.

“There ain’t nothing here we can do,” Jack announces, doing his best to keep his voice as quiet as he can possibly make it. “Let’s head back.”

Unsurprisingly, the kid is uncharacteristically quiet on the drive back to base, and even the next few days following. Jack knows it’s not the first body that Mac’s seen, but it’s probably the youngest. It’s obvious that it’s taking a toll on the kid.

Jack does his best to exaggerate stories and butcher any words above the third grade reading level, just to get a response out of the kid, but one never comes. Just like all of the other men Jack has worked with, he knows that Mac’s reached the point of no return in the army.

The point where, even if he were to go home right now, he’d never be the same.

With a leniency that comes with Jack’s past, he spends most of the next few evenings and nights around the camp, doing his best to stay busy. He tries to track down Wright at some point, but the other man is busy with something that Jack thinks he’d rather not know about.

It’s midnight when Jack comes in a few nights later, instantly frowning.

His bomb nerd, flashlight in mouth, is tinkering with something in the bed.

“Whatcha doin’, kid?” Jack questions, keeping his voice low so he doesn’t end up waking anyone up and making enemies.

Pulling the flashlight out of his mouth, wiping a bit of saliva off of it, Mac frustratingly answers, “It squeaks.”

“What does?”

“The frame,” Mac grumbles. “The frame squeaks, and I’ve already checked all of the bolts, and tightened them as much as I could, but it still squeaks.”

With a breath, Jack points out, “It’ll still be here tomorrow. Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”

“Don’t patronize me,” Mac bites, before putting the flashlight back in his mouth, hands already raised to fiddle with the frame.

“I’m not,” Jack replies with another deep breath. “But it’s my job to take care of ya, and right now, you need sleep.”

The flighlight clatters to the floor, and Jack winces at the echo. “I can fix it!” Mac half whispers, half shouts.

“Listen, Mac, I don’t doubt that, but you don’t gotta do it right now, ‘kay?”

Shaking his head, Mac ignores Jack’s sentiment and replies “It’s the rods inside of the frame. Metal cylinders, and they should be secured with each other with the bolts, but their radii are too different, so every time the frame moves, they rub against each other and squeak.”

Losing the battle with his back, Jack just ends up sitting his ass on the ground next to Mac. “Is this the excuse of why you can’t sleep? Because it squeaks?”

“I know I can fix it.”

“And I told you, I don’t doubt that. But not right now.”

“I’d be able to sleep if I could just fix it!”

“Kid-”

“I could make my own soldering iron,” Mac starts, putting a hand through his hair, “As long as I could find a large enough piece of metal to conduct heat, and then create a power source to-”

Channeling his pops as best as he can, Jack pushes himself off the ground. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“What?”

Hiding his grin at being able to pull the kid out of his thoughts, Jack repeats, “Let’s go for a walk. Clear our heads.”

Shaking his head, Mac replies, “It’s too late. We’d get in trouble.”

“Nah, we won’t get in trouble,” Jack promises. “The boys all know me, and they all owe me one. We’ll be fine.”

“They don’t owe  _ me  _ one,” Mac replies, thoroughly unconvinced.

Gripping the side of Mac’s sleeve, Jack hauls him up. “Doesn’t matter. You won’t get in trouble. Now c’mon, up and at ‘em. If you ain’t gonna sleep we’re gonna do something useful.”

Mac makes a face. “Walk around camp?”

“Helluva lot more useful than what you were just doing,” Jack points out.

Evidently in a checkmate, Mac doesn’t say anything in return.

For the first few laps, Mac’s shoulders are wound tight, grimacing at every sound, nearly a hundred percent sure that he’s going to get a reprimand for this. However after thirty minutes, Jack finally sees the kid relax. 

Or at least, relax as much as he possibly can in this situation.

Jack’s the first one to speak up. “It’s hard.”

“What is?”

Even though they both know, Jack spells it out. “Losing people, seeing them. It’s hard to deal with.” Shaking his head, Jack adds, “And it doesn’t really get easier.”

There’s a beat of silence before Mac sucks in a breath. “If we had gotten there faster-”

“You can’t live on ‘ifs,’ Mac. Besides, it wasn’t our choice. Martinez sent us out when he sent us out.”

Although he nods, Mac still insists, “I just can’t help but think-”

“Well there’s your problem.”

“Jack.”

“Fine. Go on.”

“I can’t help but think of all of the things that we should’ve done.”

With a sigh, Jack reminisces on all of the times he’d done the same. “I’m telling you, you can’t think like that. It’ll eat you up inside until you’re nothin’ but a shell.”

“Yeah,” Mac whispers, kicking a rock along for a few steps. The two continue to walk in silence, before Mac swallows, “I’m sorry I cried.”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Jack holds out an arm for him to do the same. “Stop. What the hell are you apologizing for?”

“It was unprofessional-”

Jack’s gonna punch whoever put those words in the kid’s head, because he knows for a fact that Mac wouldn’t think like that by himself. “You’re human.”

“I can’t be crying at every mission gone wrong.”

“Why not?”

That certainly tosses the kid for a loop. “I- wait, what?”

“What you saw, Mac,” Jack shakes his head, “What we saw? That shit is something that nobody should ever experience. You reacted to it like a normal human.”

Frustrated with himself, Mac starts walking again, not waiting to see if Jack will keep up the pace. “I shouldn’t have cried. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“Mac,” Jack starts, catching up to the runaway kid, “If I had a nickel for every victim that I’ve cried for, I’d actually have enough money for the therapy I so desperately need.”

As was his goal, Mac actually stutters out a surprised laugh.

“You’re not the only one who reacts this way- a far cry from it at that.” With a light nudge to his tech’s shoulder, Jack grins, “A far cry, get it? Cry?” 

He gets half a smile in response. “How,” Mac frowns at himself, before continuing, “How do you get over it?”

“You don’t,” Jack plainly replies. “You just learn to live with it.”

“I hate it.”

Surprised by insipid words, Jack takes a moment longer to understand. “Yeah, kid. I hate it too.”

Swallowing, Mac announces, “We should go back to the bunks,” Effectively cutting off anything that Jack was going to add.

Even though Jack knows that they shouldn’t be done with this conversation, there’s not much he can do. After all, he’s just this kid’s overwatch.

*

As overwatch, Jack figured that he should’ve kept a better eye on the kid. He, out of all people, should’ve been better than the others. He’s always been the one to say that he’s not just overwatch for missions, but overwatch for life.

At least, until the bomb nerd gets discharged. 

Seeing Jack’s anger, all of his peers part like the red sea, but Jack doesn’t even have time to admire that. Storming into the infirmary tent with a fury that could rival the stubborn mule at the ranch, Jack harshly stops at the front, sniper eyes scanning.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to find the kid.

He’s vehemently arguing with one of the nurses about an IV, hands animatedly accompanying words that Jack can’t quite make out. 

“You havin’ fun there, Angus?”

Jerking sharply at the usage of his first name, Mac sends him a nasty look. “Tell him I’m fine,” Mac demands, half begs, glaring at the nurse who looks thoroughly unamused.

“He’s not fine,” The nurse grumbles, sending a single glance to Jack, before turning his attention back to Mac. “You have extremely low blood sugar.”

“I don’t need an IV!”

Playing dirty, the nurse counters, “Well, maybe not if you’d eat the shit we gave you!”

“Mac,” Jack starts, “What the hell happened?”

Before the younger man can even think of a reply, the nurse answers, “Couple of buddies saw him take a nosedive down at the bunks.”

“You fainted?”

“I didn’t faint!” Mac argues, even though his pale complexion says otherwise. “I didn’t lose consciousness, so I’m fine.”

“Do you always argue this much?” The nurse questions, half directing the question to his overwatch. However he doesn’t give either of the men time to answer before he’s already holding up a new sterile needle. “A single IV bag. You’ll feel a billion times better.”

With a grumble, Mac counters, “That’s not even quantifiable.”

“If you don’t want the IV, eat this,” Jack cuts in, holding up an abandoned granola bar on the end of the cot. 

“I’m not hungry.”

Clicking his tongue, Jack says, “Well then poke poke it is. Which arm, Mac?”

At the nurse’s pointed glare of agreement, Mac mutters something under his breath and scoops up the granola bar, taking a dramatic bite, all while keeping eye contact with his overwatch.

The kid’s got balls, Jack has to admit that. 

“I’ll be back later,” The nurse states, before leaving the two men.

The granola tastes like ash when Mac eats it, but he doesn’t give Jack the satisfaction of stopping. Finally, when he’s done, Mac continues to glare up at his overwatch.

“So,” Jack starts, crossing his arms, “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Throwing up his arms, Mac counters, “Why don’t you go ask the nurse? He seems pretty keen to say whatever he wants.”

“Well, that’s why I’m asking you now. What happened? How the fuck did you end up here?”

“It’s an overreaction,” Mac empathetically argues. “I promise. Nothing is wrong.”

“Uh, huh. Sure.”

“It’s not.”

“Mmhm.”

Turning to look anywhere but Jack, Mac mutters, “All I felt was a little dizzy. But this?” Mac waves his arms around the infirmary, “Total overreaction.”

Without missing a beat, Jack questions, “Why do you have low blood sugar?”

“I didn’t even notice.”

“So you’re telling me that a couple of minutes ago was the first time that you felt dizzy?” Jack sighs when Mac doesn’t meet his eyes. “Kid, what’s going on?”

Shaking his head, Mac replies, “I told you. Nothing.”

“Nope. ‘Nothing’ don’t land you here. Does this have anything,  _ anything  _ to do with the fact that I haven’t seen you down at the mess hall the past couple of mornings?”

Mac’s huff in the other direction may as well have been a bright bold ‘ding’ on a gameshow. God, it’s been awhile since Jack’s watched shitty TV.

Pulling over a chair, Jack settles down for a long talk. “Alright, kid. You gotta talk to me. Why haven’t you been eating?”

“It hasn’t been on purpose,” Mac replies, without even realizing that he’s admitted to doing so. “I just haven’t been hungry. Not since…” He trails off, but both of them know what he’s referring to.

“I know it’s hard, Mac, but you can’t just stop-”

“I told you, I didn’t even notice. It wasn’t on purpose,” Mac interrupts, staring up at Jack, half in pleading, and half in annoyance. “I just haven’t been hungry.”

Figuring that now wouldn’t be the most ideal time to talk about PTSD, Jack instead goes for, “Has this happened before?”

The question catches Mac off guard, and it takes a few seconds for him to formulate a response. “Kind of? I think so. When I was younger.”

Despite the fact that Jack desperately wants to figure out what that moment was, he instead coaxes, “So what helped? What got you back on two feet, brain firing electronics?”

“Electrons,” Mac absentmindedly corrects, before sighing. “I don’t really know. Bozer?”

“A what?”

“No no no,” Mac grins, “A person. His name is Bozer.”

Jack makes a barely exaggerated face. “Who the hell names their kid after a bulldozer?”

That actually gets a chuckle out of the kid. “I’ve never heard that one before. And to be fair, it is his last name.”

“What’s his first name, then?”

“Wilt.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.”

Jack brings up his hands, before the fall back to the side in dramatics. “Who the fuck went around naming the kids in your city? Angus? Wilt? What the fuck. Who let that happen? And I know it sounds rhetorical, but holy shit. What kind of names are those?”

Shrugging, Mac truthfully answers, “I have no idea. At least I know the history of the name ‘Angus.’ Can’t say the same for ‘Wilt,’ though.”

“We are,” Jack holds up a hand, “Definitely coming back to this. But right now, backtrack a bit. What helped? What’d this Bozer person do?”

Mac’s face falls. “That’s the thing. I don’t know what he did. Just being around him seemed to make things better.”

With a fond smile coming to his face, Jack nods in understanding. Worthy did the same thing for him. “So tell me about him.”

“What?”

“I’m serious,” Jack nods. “You’ve heard me tell plenty of stories,” He ignores Mac’s snort, “So I’m sure you know how to tell some by now. What’d you and Bulldozer do?”

Shaking his head, Mac corrects, “Bozer. And I don’t know. We did a lot.”

Watching a smile come to the kid’s face, Jack questions, “I know you’re thinking of something right now. Spill it. I want to know what a young MacGyver does in his free time,” He adds, doing his best to not think about how Mac is  _ still  _ young.

“Well,” Mac glances at the granola bar, “Back home, there’s a football field that’s basically unusable for the foreseeable future.”

“You had to do with that, didn’t you?”

“Uh,” Giving a sheepish smile, Mac agrees, “Just a, just a bit.”

“Spill it, kid. What’d you do? Wait- no, lemme guess. Put all of the grass on fire? You seem like a pyro kid. Or maybe the opposite? Turned the grass into water?”

Eyes crinkling, Mac questions, “How do you turn grass into water?”

“I dunno,” Jack shrugs, “I’m not the wonder kid here.”

“It’s  _ wunderkind, _ Jack, you know that.” Jack just feigns ignorance with a smile. “And to answer your question, it was a small nuclear reaction-”

“A what?!”

“Small!” Mac quickly reiterates. “Super small. Barely noticeable,” Mac winces, “Well, a little bit more than barely, but still! I was little, so I wasn’t that good at-”

Evidently, it was the wrong thing to say, because Jack instantly questions, “How little?”

Doing his best to evade the question, Mac slowly answers, “The field was for both junior high and high school?”

“And which school were you in?”

“Junior high?”

Surprising Mac, Jack barks out in laughter. “You’re kidding, right? A couple of kids, not even teenagers, made a nuclear explosion in the field?”

“Reaction. Not an explosion.”

Just shaking his head, Jack fondly notes, “I’ve said it once, and I’ll keep sayin’ it: bomb nerds are a different breed of humans. Fuckin’ craziest people I’ve ever worked with, and that includes the Deltas.”

“It was barely dangerous,” Mac counters, but a smile still comes to his face.

Grinning at the color finally coming back to Mac’s cheeks, Jack reaches over to grab an unopened protein bar. “You up for another one?”

“If it’ll make you quiet, sure,” Mac shrugs, doing his best, and failing, for nonchalance.

After the kid’s taken a few bites, Jack starts up again, “I gotta ask, though. What happened after? The two of you get expelled?”

“Surprisingly no,” Mac grins, “Suspended for two days, and then a week of detention afterward, but that was all.”

“Teacher’s are gettin’ fucking soft now, huh? Back when I was a kid, you talked outta line and you got your knuckles cracked.”

“Well, to be fair,” Mac starts, “That was a couple of centuries ago, so…”

Fondly shaking his head, Jack huffs out, “Oh, ha, ha, let’s all make fun of Jack for being old-”

“I agree,”

Jack has a response all geared up, but seeing the kid genuinely smiling for the first time in a week cuts off anything he could’ve said. “And so what, your parents were fine with it?”

Face falling for a split second, Mac’s quickly covers it with, “Boze’s mom was pretty pissed. Took away his bike for a while, but eventually she just kinda forgot about it.”

“She forgot about a nuclear explosion?” Jack incredulously questions, storing away the fact that Mac doesn’t mention his own parents.

“Reaction, Jack. It was just a reaction.”

“Yeah, yeah,” The older man waves him off, before nodding to the protein bar in hand. “Finish that, got it?”

“Sir, yes sir,” Mac grins, bringing a hand up to salute, “Jack Dalton, sir!” After a look from Jack, Mac explains, “Just honoring my elders. Sir.”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Jack questions, even as fondness drips from his voice.

Rather than reply, Mac just takes a long, slow bite of the protein bar. While chewing, just as slowly, he just shrugs, eyes glimmering in scheme.

*

Cleaning his own weapon, Jack watches as Mac takes a few pieces of plastic from under his bunk. Mac inspects them for a few moments, and then deems them good enough for whatever purpose, before shaving them down to particular shapes with his knife.

After a few minutes of shaving, the kid then pushes them into the joints of the bunk frame, eyes squinting in determination.

Jack has to stop himself from scoffing. Well shit, the kid really did want to fix the squeaky frame. Who’d have guessed?”

“Dalton!”

Halfway to his feet, Jack sinks back down after he sees who it is. Mac, on the other hand, is still alert as ever, eyes passing between Jack and someone he’s never seen before.

“Wright, brother, what’s up?” Jack asks, setting his scope down to clap Wright on the shoulder. “You look like your cat just died.”

Shaking his head, Wright gives a laugh before replying, “We gotta talk.”

“Somethin’ serious?”

“Well, it ain’t anything cheery.”

Watching from the floor, Mac withdraws his hands from the frame of his bunk, still deciphering their relationship. 

With a head nod, Wright greets, “MacGyver.”

“Sir.”

Already walking to leave the bunk, Jack requests, “Don’t faint, you hear me?”

“I didn’t-” Mac huffs, “I told you, I didn’t faint!”

Jack just laughs, finding joy in the kid’s spluttering words. 

Shaking his head at Jack, Wright questions, “How’s MacGyver doing?”

Sobering, Jack blatantly replies, “He’s a kid in a warzone.”

“That good, huh?”

“Worse. What’d you need me for, Wright?”

Cryptically, the other man answers, “Wait until we can talk in private.”

Near instantaneously, Jack’s shoulders immediately tighten, eyes scanning the horizon. Years of sniper work has fined tuned every reaction after hearing of danger.

By the time the two of them sink into uncomfortable chairs, Jack’s chest is already brimming with anxiety. 

“So…?” Jack begins.

“So you know the reports about MacGyver being sent out?”

“‘Course,” Jack nods. “Couldn’t forget about them.”

Nodding, Wright announces, “There’s been a few more. But I thought I knew what’s happening,”

“Which is?”

“Just thought it was some big-wig in a suit scouting him. Same thing that happened to you, even though you refuse to admit it.” After Jack gives him a look, Wright continues, “C’mon, you know that the ‘Five I’s always want to get agents as young as they come. And MacGyver? He’s prime meat.”

Jack sighs, knowing that he’s right. “So which organization?”

“That’s the thing,” Leaning forward on his elbows, Wright continues, “Because now I’m not so sure about an organization wanting him.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Mac was admitted to the infirmary,”

Scoffing, Jack mutters, “Yeah, I’m well aware.”

“The medical report, which, mind you, is barely a page, also got sent out.”

“Same address?”

“Same address,” Wright confirms. “And that don’t make a lick of sense. If someone was scouting, they would only care about how well MacGyver does his job. Not about his blood sugar.”

Biting the inside of his mouth, Jack deflates. “So who’s after him? Who the hell is trying to get all of this information about this kid?”

“I don’t know, man,” Wright shakes his head, “I don’t know.”

*

Weaving the glass from the broken binoculars between his fingers, Mac sits up in front of the bunk with pride. After securing the extra pieces of plastic between the cylinders of metal with rubber bands, Mac’s confident.

Sure enough, as soon as Mac lays down, even turning his body for extra measure, the frame doesn’t let out a single squeak. Mac can’t help but grin to himself, feeling fulfilled for the first time in nearly a week.

“What’s got you so happy, kid?”

Nearly jumping, Mac looks up to see Jack’s eyes meeting his own. “Nothing,” He replies, before instantly countering himself, “I got the frame to stop making noise. See?” Mac adds, moving around a bit for extra measure.

“Knew you could do it,” Jack smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Frowning, Mac sits up and questions, “What’s wrong? Something with… Wright?”

“Nah,” Jack shakes his head. “Everything’s good.”

“You sure?”

Smiling again, this time along with crinkled eyes, Jack confirms, “Positive.”

**Author's Note:**

> Jack is a dad, and no I won't be taking criticism at this time jajaja. Slowly but surely, Jack is going to learn more about Mac's past, and I can't wait to write more of that! Thank you everyone for your support, I love you!!
> 
> I'd love to meet more of you guys, so come talk with me on [tumblr](https://appalachianapologies.tumblr.com/) (AppalachianApologies) if you'd like! I'm always so down to meet new people :D
> 
> I love you all very much, and I hope you all are doing okay. If you find yourself in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines (Please keep in mind that the written out numbers are US hotlines)
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of [international hotlines.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)  
> You are not alone, and I love you all <3


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